The Best Christmas
by BarbedWire
Summary: Ron gives Hermione a special early Christmas present. Just a fluffy oneshot. Very mild swearing.


**Authors's Note: I DO NOT own Harry Potter, JK Rowling has all the claim to that brilliance.  
>This is for Cass. Merry Christmas!<br>It's really just a little fluffy oneshot, just because I love Ron and Hermione.  
>I'd love reviews!<strong>

It had just started snowing; big, white flakes were drifting lazily to the ground as Ron Weasley hurried across the sidewalk to the gray door of a shabby looking apartment building. Pulling it open, he was instantly relieved by the warmth inside. He brushed the snow out of his hair and started up the narrow stairs.

When he arrived at a door on the second landing, he reached into his pocket for his keys. His stomach lurched as he brushed the small velveteen box that was inside. His hand was shaking a bit as he fumbled with the keys and before he could open the door, they fell to the floor.

"Damn it," he muttered as he stooped to pick them up. As he stood again, the door opened.

"Were you planning on coming inside Ron?" Hermione asked as she stood in the doorway.

Grinning sheepishly, Ron held up his keys, "Dropped my keys."

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly. Ron couldn't help but smile as he looked at her, standing there in his holey Chudley Cannons t-shirt and her flannel pajama bottoms. It was just so simply amazing to see her standing there in _their_ flat, wearing _his_ t-shirt to bed. It seemed like a dream every time he came home to find her reading on the couch, or talking to her mother on that confusing Muggle contraption the _smellyphone_. He doubted that he would ever get over being amazed each time he saw that she was still there, still his. To be honest he didn't want to, he didn't want to spend even one day taking her for granted.

"You do that every time," Hermione pointed out.

"Keys are a weird concept for me,"

She sighed, "I suppose so. Well I've got ice cream out. Want some?" She moved back inside the flat and he followed her in and closed the door.

"Ice cream for supper?" he removed the small box from his pocket before he hung his coat on the hook by the door.

"It's Christmas Eve, I thought we'd have something yummy," he heard her voice carry from the kitchen, but he barely registered what she actually said as he looked around the flat. There was not much to be said for it, it was small and shabby. The walls were covered with the same drab gray wallpaper in every room besides the closet of a bathroom. The wind whistled in around the two tiny windows, and he was fairly certain their neighbor was up to something illegal. They didn't have much furniture. Just a threadbare couch they'd bought at a rummage sale, and an armchair from Hermione's parents. His own parents had bought them the tiny kitchen table and the two chairs that actually matched. They didn't have a bed frame, just a mattress and a box spring on the floor in the miniscule bedroom. They didn't have a place to go with their clothes, so they left them inside the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall in the bedroom. Their Christmas tree was short, and had so few branches he could have counted them on his fingers. There were only about 8 ornaments on it, and one strand of lights. But he loved it; every inch of its odd smell and gray wallpaper and barely enough room to sit down properly. He loved it because it was theirs, and no one else's. This was just their beginning, so what if all their furniture was used and the windows were drafty? This flat was the realization of all the things he had dreamt of since he was fourteen.

Hermione returned from the kitchen with two bowls of ice cream, she handed him one of them.

"Your hair's all wet," she said, as she pushed a dripping strand away from his eyes.

"Yeah, it started snowing," he stared into his ice cream, suddenly very nervous as his fingers gripped onto the box in his hand.

"Did it? Well that's nice." She took his hand and pulled him onto the couch. "What's the matter Ron? You haven't touched your ice cream."

Ron took a deep breath, then managed a smile. He might as well get it over with. It wouldn't be any less terrifying in ten minutes.

"I got a present for you," his hands were starting to shake, so he set his ice cream down on the floor.

"Well put it under the tree Ron, that's where presents go,"

"No," just a moment's courage, that's all he would need, a moment's courage. "I really think you should open this one now."

Hermione looked confused, and maybe even afraid, "Alright Ron, if you want me to open it tonight,"

Ron nodded, and handed her the box. She took it and for a moment simply stared down at it.

"I think you should open it," he said. She nodded, and opened the lid of the box. The diamond inside caught the colored lights from the tree and reflected them across her face. She let out a tiny gasp.

"It's not the best, I mean, there were ones I liked better-but if you want you can pick one out your self-" his stammering was caught off when Hermione threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Yes, Ron. Yes." She said after letting him go. "And it's perfect."

She slipped the ring onto her finger as if to illustrate its perfection. Then she kissed him again, and Ron couldn't help but think that this Christmas, in the tiny, gray flat was the best Christmas he would ever have…


End file.
